


Contact Theory

by mautadite



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: F/F, Future Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-16
Updated: 2013-10-16
Packaged: 2017-12-29 13:23:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1005934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mautadite/pseuds/mautadite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Perhaps this was right.</p><p>(Or, five times Katrina Crane is touched on the night of her rescue from the world between worlds.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Contact Theory

**Author's Note:**

> It needs to be said that this is self-indulgent as hell (par for the course with me), was written before 1x05, and it speculates and theorises on a few things that will probably be proven wrong come 1x06. I know we haven't seen much of her, and thus don't have a handle on her personality and the secrets surrounding her, but nevertheless, I wanted to write something Katrina-centric.

**i.**

The first human contact that Katrina has in over two hundred and thirty-three years comes in the form of the hand of the second witness’ sister, stretching out towards her from amidst a vortex of silver and blue. Her black-brown hair whips back and across her face like so many vines, and Katrina’s breath catches in her throat. This is not a vision, not a dream, not a summons. To know that there is a corporeal human being standing only yards away from her, her salvation and her thread to the other world, is the sweetest thing that Katrina has known in an era. Jennifer Mills is beautiful, in all she is.

“Come on, Red; we don’t have all day!” Her voice cracks like ice against stone. “Abbie and Crane are holding him off for now, but we don’t know when his little friends might show up. Grab my hand!”

 _‘Red?’_ she thinks, still half in a daze. And then the urgency hits her, the fact that this is truly happening, that this door is truly opening, and she surges forwards. 

The leaves and dirt beneath her are not real, and she knows it, but it is still a fight to get through them. The shadows and the shifting feet of the nearby souls moving onwards melt into periphery. Everything feels sluggish and heavy and cold, and Jennifer’s hand when she reaches it is a wonderful contrast; so warm that Katrina feels tears prickling at her eyes as she’s tugged forward. 

“Crane said you’d know what to do,” Jennifer calls, and Katrina nods, hardening herself.

They stumble into the portal. Katrina sees a dark shadow pass at the corner of her eye, and the strange object in Jennifer’s right hand reveals itself to be some sort of firearm as she raises it and throws a shot behind them. The report is nothing to the cloud of confusion and noise in their ears as they run. The shadow advances still, gathering more with it, and Katrina uses her free hand to cast a weak spell, the best that she is capable of, pulsing a beam of light through the dark.

It is enough to waylay them. They crash along through the vortex, Katrina’s skirts catching between her legs, a ghastly wind snapping at their throats. A mirror approaches, and instinctively, Katrina moves in closer to Jennifer, only to feel a strong arm wrap around her shoulders as they advance forward and through. She expends her light, feels Jennifer’s reaching out to mingle with it, and their bodies slice through the mercury and the worlds as if they are naught but stardust.

The harsh void is replaced in an instant with a cold, musty atmosphere, and something falls backwards with a crash. Katrina braces herself for a jarring fall, but none comes. She lands, instead, across her saviour, chest to chest and thigh to thigh, her hair falling forward into Jennifer’s face. She is unclothed, there is a steadying hand on her waist, and the sound of their breathing eclipses all. Everything, for a moment, is narrowed down to the fact that there is another human being beneath her whom she can see, hear, touch, feel. 

Her heart pounds. It worked. She is no longer in a world apart. Here, wherever on Earth _here_ is, Moloch cannot touch her.

Her body feels as light as a birdcage as Jennifer adjusts them, manoeuvring her into a sitting position. The ground is cool beneath her legs, but it is firm, hard, _real_.

“You okay, Red?” the second witness’ sister asks her, touching the side of her face with something like concern. Her brows are drawn down. Katrina takes a breath, a deep one, and feels it coursing into her lungs, lighting up her pores. Ambrosia could never be so sweet. 

“Thank you,” she whispers, face crumbling, falling forward with her forehead against Jennifer’s shoulder. She feels a hesitant hand alight upon the small of her back, and it is all the encouragement she needs to draw her saviour into a loose hug. “Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you.”

~~~

**ii.**

Her first thought, after her eyes are dry and she is provided with a simple gown to don, is for Ichabod.

“Take me to him, please, Ms. Mills.”

Jennifer’s brows, arched and expressive, dip down again as she leads them out of the dark room. A church cellar, to Katrina’s eyes, bereft of any accoutrements save the mirror through which they had entered. Now shattered, it is left for Katrina to pick her way barefooted through the shards that Jennifer does not manage to kick away.

“How do you know—”

“I have seen glimpses of you through Ichabod and your sister. It was not always easy, but I was not totally bereft of an occasional window out of that accursed dimension.” She smiles wanly. “I would not have followed just anyone through that portal, Jennifer.”

“Smart woman.” Jennifer faces forward once again, her mass of hair swinging wildly. Her stride is long and she takes the stairs two by two; Katrina has to hurry to catch up. “Come on; if everything went according to plan, they should be on their way from the graveyard to meet us now.”

Outside, it is a dark, true night; a shocking contrast to the evil smogginess that ever pervaded Moloch’s dimension. Huge buildings of stone and steel rise out of the ground, casting their shadows with the aid of harsh lights. Out of pure ingrained habit, Katrina looks to the sky, and is further shocked to find that Sleepy Hollow’s architecture is not the thing to have changed over the centuries. The stars are not as she knows them.

“It’s different when you leave the city.”

Jennifer is watching her. With the benefit of the lamplight, Katrina can take her first good look at her in her totality. Her garb is strange — trousers, boots, and a curious chemise that leaves her arms bare from the shoulders down. Something about her seems to glow, and whether it is her skin or her hair or her eyes, Katrina knows not, but standing against the backdrop of the stained church windows, the elder Mills sister looks like an angel; righteous and fierce.

“I’m not sure I know what you mean,” she responds, striking away her fanciful thoughts as she moves back to her side.

“Maybe one day you’ll see. This way, follow me.”

Jennifer tugs her along an alleyway, away from the gaze of the strange structures of a changed Sleepy Hollow. As a distant noise roars into nearness, Katrina wrenches her gaze from the woman before her and towards the source of the sound. 

A machine approaches and stops only a few yards away, and Ichabod, dear, sweet, lanky Ichabod with his hair in his eyes and his clothes awry, tumbles from it and sweeps towards her. Katrina feels a sweet lightness being pressed into her chest, and wordlessly, she rushes forward to meet him halfway.

He is well, Katrina thinks as she wraps her arms around his waist and presses her cheek to his own. Words of delight and thanks and amazement are rushing from his lips like a stream of light, but Katrina holds her peace, listening to him and holding him. An odour of sweat and the grave clings to his clothes, but she doesn’t relax her grip for one moment. After so long, she can finally hold him.

Thank every god to ever draw breath; he is well.

~~~

**iii.**

“A thousand, thousand pardons, Katrina; we should have been able to release you sooner, we should have done more, we should have tried harder, the signs were all there, it took us far too long to formulate a plan… if there is anything, _anything_ that we can… that _I_ can…”

“Ichabod, peace.” Amazingly, she feels herself smiling, laughing. Mirth like this is almost alien to her. She covers his excitable hands with her own. “I have been with you all this time; I know how hard you have been trying.” Tears creep back into her eyes, and she hugs him again. “I thank you with all my heart. I knew you would never give up.”

“Never, Katrina.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she spies a smaller woman exiting the machine; compact, pretty, and quite capable-looking. A smear of blood trails from her temple to her cheek while she looks to Jennifer and gives her a relieved nod. This is her.

“Moloch?” Katrina asks as she pulls away, posing it to them both.

“Gone,” Ichabod replies, “but we would be fools to think him defeated just yet.”

“He saw through us at the last minute; we didn’t get to complete the seals, or rain down any of that righteous fire I’ve been practising.” Abigail steps forward into the orange glow. “And I think he must have sensed that we trying to spring you too. He gave me a little parting gift before he headed back for his hole.” She gestures to her head with a tiny smirk. “Probably out of fruit baskets. But he shouldn’t be bothering us again for a while.”

Much of what she says is incomprehensible, but Katrina hears and sees beyond it to what has yet to be told. She watches the slant of Ichabod’s body turn towards his fellow witness, feels one of his hands slip from hers, watches it flutter indecisively between Abigail’s shoulder and waist before resting on his own thigh. She watches his eyes soften further, and sees the nervous twitch of his neck when he catches himself too late.

Katrina smiles to herself. This is no surprise; she has been seeing the signs for the better part of two years, and she’d had two centuries before to contemplate it happening. _And I will give power unto my two witnesses, and they shall prophesy a thousand two hundred and threescore days, clothed in sackcloth._ In the face of tribulation, they have grown close.

Abigail catches her eye and flushes. Katrina smiles back, kindly, before Ichabod rushes to intervene. 

“Katrina, you have of course already made the acquaintance of the immensely capable Ms. Jennifer Mills.”

“Call me Jenny,” she calls, giving a jaunty little salute. Katrina directs a little bow towards her.

“And now, I have the pleasure to finally formally introduce you to her sister, my friend, and the second witness, Lieutenant Abigail Mills.” The fluttering hand finally alights upon the small of her back, and she steps forward, stretching out a hand to Katrina.

“Call me Abbie,” she urges with a very sweet smile. “Really, please do. I still have trouble getting him to acknowledge that I even have a first name on most days.”

Katrina laughs.

“I fear Ichabod’s ways with women were in need of a bit of refinement when I first met him, and it remains true to this day.” She levels her husband with a sly look, smiling at his consternation. “In the meantime, well met, Abbie.” She uses both of her hands to clasp one of the Lieutenant’s, and draw her closer. Her hands are very small, but lined with calluses; they speak simultaneously of beauty and strength. “I am so glad that we can finally meet in person.”

It takes a moment, but Abigail responds warmly, after seemingly shaking herself out of a daze. She curves a hand amiably on Katrina’s shoulder.

“Hey, same here, Katrina. You’re always doing so much to help us out; it was about time we got off our butts and returned the favour.”

“So long as you have been helping Ichabod, Abbie, you have been helping me,” she returns seriously, “and all of mankind. Be sure of it.”

Abbie glances towards her feet, and when she looks back, her gaze is brighter and more direct. They smile.

“Here, let me,” Katrina offers. A few whispered words, a flash of pale light, and she is moving her glowing hand towards the bleeding cut on Abbie’s temple. She is almost drained, but in the presence of loved ones and allies, she feels a new strength. Something small like this, she can manage.

~~~

**iv.**

“Alright,” Jenny cuts in, striding up towards them, “as nice as this is, we can’t stay here all night. Now that we have Red here, we need to get someplace safe and figure out a game-plan for what comes next.”

Agreement comes swiftly. Ichabod ushers her towards the machine (the ‘car’, she must remember to call it; she is a part of this world now, and will have to use their names) and sees her seated in the rear portion. When he tries to climb in after her, she pats his hand, and gestures him towards the front, to Abbie’s side, where he had been when he exited the vehicle.

“We will speak further when the time is meet,” she says with a wan smile that grows wider and fonder when he obeys without question.

Instead, she finds herself with Jenny as a seatmate on the strange journey to their place of safety. She had gotten glimpses of the new world that her husband had found himself in, but those glimpses could do nothing to satiate her present curiosity for all that she sees beyond the window of the moving contraption. She has a thousand questions, and Ichabod, seemingly, a thousand proud answers.

“And _that_ is a Starbucks; a place to procure teas and coffees and a large variety of hot and cold drinks. Don’t be alarmed if you see several more as we travel; I’m still not convinced that there isn’t a law mandating their continued presence.”

“I see…”

Jenny remains silent for most of the journey; in lieu of speaking, she checks and rechecks her firearms. She seems to carry at least three on her person. Katrina observes with curiosity; Jenny’s fingers move with a lightness and speed that most spell-casters would envy.

“Is this the part where you ask the slavery question?”

Katrina looks up to find that her observation has not gone unnoticed. Jennifer’s eyes look fit to see right through her.

“I… I beg your pardon?”

“I hear that when Ichabod asked Abbie that question the first time, she threatened to pull her gun on him. Don’t know how I’d feel about pulling that on you; you _were_ just freed from another dimension and everything.”

She replaces the last weapon into a waiting receptacle on her hip while Katrina’s cheeks flush gently.

“Oh, no… I was simply admiring your skill. I am aware of the abolition of slavery, and that certain things have changed in the world; it gladdens me greatly.”

Her companion’s smile curves upward, scimitar-like, with an edge of teasing.

“We’re still waiting on a few more of those changes, but yeah, I think it’s a major step-up from two hundred years ago. And it gladdens me greatly that I won’t be threatening to shoot you, Red.” 

She bounces her elbow gently off of Katrina’s arm, the briefest of touches. It takes her a moment, but she recognises it for a gesture of amity.

“See, she’s doing better than you already,” Abbie comments in the front, and Ichabod huffs. Katrina smiles before turning back to Jenny.

“I am no stranger to descriptive monikers,” she says without rancour, “but I believe this is the quickest that I have ever found myself with one.”

“Ms. Mills is something of a _fan_ of unwanted nicknames,” her husband informs her.

“Can it, Ichie.”

“Indeed, _Ichie_ ,” Katrina echoes, brimming with amusement. “I said nothing of unwanted; it is by far the kindest I’ve ever had. I think I quite like it, Ms. Mills.”

When she looks at Jenny next, it is to find that she is being looked at as well. There is a considering slope to the angle of her mouth, and for a moment, everything about her seems harsh, but Katrina thinks again that Jennifer Mills is almost fearfully angelic. Perhaps it was right that she had been the one to give Katrina her light and passage into the world.

“Jenny,” she reminds her.

“Jenny,” Katrina echoes, nodding assent.

~~~

**v.**

The vehicle bypasses stone and steel until they leave the unfamiliar town behind and descend upon an earthen path, their way lit only by the moon. Abigail halts the car within a small thicket of trees where the sounds of the forest are hushed and close. Ichabod opens the strange door for her, and it is a short walk from there to the wooden cabin that lies beyond.

“It’s not much,” Abigail says, “but…” 

“It’s one of the few safe houses we have that hasn’t been compromised,” Jenny finishes, striding up the steps to the door with a jangle of keys. “I’ll start clearing things up. I’m gonna need a hand, guys.”

“Perhaps I can…” Katrina starts, but Abbie is the one to cut her off.

“You, of all people, can use a little breather, I think. Can I get you anything? Water, food? You must be starving.”

It is on the tip of her tongue to politely decline, but then Katrina realises with a jolt that she _is_ famished. More than two hundred years without a touch of food, and with the adrenaline and the sheer elation winding down, she suddenly feels faint with it. It had been her soul trapped in that hateful purgatory, her body only restored once she crossed the threshold with the aide of one of the living, but the lack of nourishment pinches her nonetheless.

“I would be glad of it, thank you,” she says, seating herself upon the top stair. Her three companions venture into the cabin, Ichabod pausing to ghost a light hand over the top of her hair. 

It is cold, but Katrina relishes it. She relishes any sort of sensation that comes to her: the wetness beneath her toes, the tickle of the beetle meandering up her leg, the press of her own fingers into the flesh of her arms as she hugs herself. To concentrate on breathing for a few seconds makes the blood rush to her head in this body that is hers again.

A bird screams, and Katrina looks to the trees as a host of them take wing and turn east. One of their number, however, descends towards her in a flutter of brown and white feathers. Katrina smiles, and holds out a palm on which the falcon alights.

“Hello, my friend. Very good of you to meet me like this.”

Its eyes are bright with cleverness and understanding. The falcon cries a phrase or two in the language of the birds, and departs with the opening of the door.

Katrina turns. Abbie and Ichabod approach, each with a few items in hand. Ichabod presents her with a bottle made of some kind of soft but sturdy material, filled to the brim with water which she gratefully downs. Abbie’s offering is stranger still; a soft, chewy bread with oats, grains, raisins, chocolate, and a few other ingredients that she cannot identify. She eats four of them.

“I’m glad you like them,” Abbie laughs as she starts on the fifth, “because it’s kind of all we have. Jenny loves those things; she stockpiled when we went up against Famine during Easter. We need to make a grocery run sometime soon.”

“The decadence is almost revolting, and the prices will make your head spin,” Ichabod promises.

“It seems that there is much and more still that I have to learn about this world,” Katrina notes, brushing crumbs away from her bodice.

“It’ll all come in time,” Abbie assures her. “You’ve got a head start on Ichabod, and if our luck holds out, we won’t be hearing from our horned friends for a while.”

“Does our luck _ever_ hold out?” Ichabod returns.

“First time for everything.” Abbie offers Katrina another of her shy smiles. “Especially now that we have a witch on our side.”

“And _by_ your sides,” Katrina affirms, and lays a light hand on Ichabod’s calf, looking up at his lanky frame. “Thanks to you both.”

Ichabod and Abbie glance at each other, then at her, and a moment passes in which something might be said. _These are the two olive trees, and the two candlesticks standing before the God of the earth._ Katrina lets it pass. As Abbie says, it will all come in time.

“Hey, Ichabod.” Jenny appears in the wooden doorway, and ambles over. With her shoulders squared and hunched just so, she seems to occupy more space than she actually does. “Get your tall butt in here and take down those extra blankets for me.”

“How can I resist such charm?” he quips, and rests a hand on Katrina’s shoulder once more before taking his long-legged stride inside. Abbie follows soon after, following Jenny’s request to make sure that he knows where they are to be found. Katrina expects the second sister to leave her to herself once again, but instead, she moves closer, and gestures to the empty wrappings. 

“I’ll take those.”

“Thank you.”

“You seem to be handling it pretty well,” she continues smoothly, coming to stand in front of Katrina on the stair. She rests a hand casually on her hip, and juts her chin towards the interior at Katrina’s confused look. “Ichabbie. Abbibod. Your husband and my sister.”

“Ah.” Katrina runs a hand through her hair, clearing strays strands from her face. “You are very direct, Jenny.”

Jenny shrugs, and leans on the railing. “Often am.”

Katrina looks up at her thoughtfully, rubbing her palms together. Hearing it put into words, knowing that someone else can see and acknowledge it, makes it no more surprising to her.

“It _is_ a queer situation, but yes, I am managing it well, better than even they are, I think. I have had quite some time to process it, after all.”

“You knew that Ichabod and the second witness were going to be…?” Jenny makes a gesture with two of her fingers that Katrina does not recognise, but is able to understand.

“Not quite… I did know, however, that whoever they were, they would be quite special, and I have had more than a year to find out just how special the Lieutenant is.” She lifts her shoulders, and smiles. “I will always love Ichabod, you must understand… but I let go of him a long time ago.”

Jenny says nothing for a moment, and simply looks down at her. She looks as if she is faced with a particularly peculiar problem, and she is not sure whether or not to try to solve it. When Katrina expects another question, her companion looks to the sky instead.

“It’s different when you leave the city,” she says again, echoing her words from earlier that night. “We’re still too close. When you really get out there, away from all the smoke and the lights… then you can see the stars.”

Katrina considers. Sleepy Hollow’s skyline is bright and utterly foreign, and above, she can only discern the twinkling of a few of the night’s lights.

“It would be a pleasure to walk beneath the same stars as I did so long ago,” she muses, chin upon her hand. Jenny laughs. 

“Maybe not the exact same ones, but… it’ll be a start. Come on Red, I dusted out a bed for you and put the kettle on. Time to discover the not-so-modern miracle of hot water in a bucket before we hole up for the night. We’ve got a lot of apocalypse ahead of us.”

She outstretches a hand, casually. Katrina takes it, lets herself be pulled to a stand by the magnetism of a warm palm in her own. Contact and connections. There is much to be done indeed, but now, freed from Moloch’s hold, she can take an active part in it, and there is strength that is not her own to be shared. Jenny squeezes her hand lightly. It feels like a promise made in her blood and transfigured into the real, and Katrina is willing to grasp it with both hands.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure what kind of bird it was that Katrina used to appear to Ichabod in 1x01... I went with falcon, but that could be wrong.
> 
> Thanks for reading. :)


End file.
